The Revenge of Dalton Kincaid
He dropped the crucial fourth and 5 with a Super Bowl ticket on the line. It was painful. But then? The Buffalo Bills tight end wiped those tears away. "That's the moment you want," he tells Go Long.
One football rains down from the Missouri sky like a gift from heaven.
Fourth and 5. Two minutes left. Forty-seven yard line. Arrowhead Stadium at a roaring fever pitch. All with a trip to Super Bowl LIX in New Orleans on the line? These are the six seconds we all simulated in the backyard with our Dads. Six seconds that feel like an eternity for the recipient. Dalton Kincaid is ready. The Buffalo Bills tight end sees the fluttering pigskin and reacts swiftly by slamming the brakes on his deep over route toward the sideline.
In one motion, Kincaid flips his body 180 degrees, dives horizontally and that golden ticket cruelly slips right through a narrow tunnel formed by his right bicep and forearm.
Difficult? Yes.
A catch NFL teams expect their first-round talent to make? Also, yes.
Six Chiefs players dance around his body in celebration. On all fours, all Kincaid can do is stare at that football, that gift bouncing downfield. It’s taunting him. He reaches both hands to his facemask in disbelief, ambles to his feet and then looks up at the videoboard. Once, twice, a third time, Kincaid essentially watches this sport rip his own heart out. He takes a seat on the bench and each breath is visible in the January chill. Eye black smears into his beard.
When the CBS broadcast zeroes in on Kincaid, he’s not speaking to a soul. He’s pale. Life appears to have left his body.
Reality isn’t far off.
“Numb,” says Kincaid. “Completely numb. Got a bunch of guys in the locker room you feel you let down. Coaches. Teammates. Staff. So many people pour in and are resources for us and our team. It’s a tough feeling.”
Go Long subscribers can access our 2025 NFL Season Preview features in full.
Today? Dalton Kincaid opens up at length on the drop, fighting back and what’s next.
The Bills lost, 32-29. Another legitimate shot at championship glory was vaporized by these grim-reaper Kansas City Chiefs. Now, he’ll talk about it. All of it. Here in Orchard Park, NY — months later — Kincaid relives the nightmare. How he remained disoriented as players all trudged into the visitor’s locker room. Naturally, teammates consoled a 25-year-old they viewed as a brother. This team is exceptionally close. But as his tears flowed, it wasn’t one heartfelt hug that snapped him out of this haze. No sermon of positivity, no texts from loved ones, nothing warm and fuzzy at all served as serotonin.
Kincaid required one kick in the ass from a teammate who wasn’t even in uniform that night.
The reason he’s standing here with his back straight, staring you in the eye, demanding the football with everything at stake again?